Page 41 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

"That chair is not a bed." I offer in a softer voice.

"It's fine." He’s closer now. My hair tangles in the wind and he reaches out to calm it. In that one move I notice a lot about the man who put his life at risk to save mine. Like the scars on his chest where his dress shirt sits open. I see those and the dark ink sprawled across his hard pecs. The first is interesting. I don’t see how a man in his line of work doesn’t have more visible scars. But the latter detail is a weakness that will get me into trouble big time. A man with an accent and ink? God, it’s a miracle I didn’t jump him last night with all the adrenaline in my system.

I pick off an invisible piece of lint from his shirt and leave my hand resting over his heart.

He holds my hand captive against his chest and he leans in. Fire glitters in those pretty blues. I’m so mesmerized I don’t suspect his next moves.

I yelp when he drops the bag and hoists me up with a firm grip on my bare ass.

Strong fingers dig into the flesh of my cheeks. Two hundred pounds of Russian mafia man pins me to the rock wall. Hard muscle melts to my front and I can’t do anything about it.

Not true. His lips are so close all I have to do is lean forward half an inch and I’d be kissing him. That’s something.

Since I’m not going anywhere until he says, I wrap my legs around him and…

“Oh, fuck me,” I whisper against his lips as I feel I’m not the only one thinking of using our time together wisely. The hard ridge of his cock is only held back by the zipper of his slacks. One little tug and he could be free to work out all our pent up frustrations.

I shudder in his hold. And then I press my heels into him and draw him closer.

His groan reaches into me and strokes my bad-girl ego. I’m not one to go looking for kinky encounters with older men, I mean I am a virgin. But I feel if I don’t act on my desires when the opportunity strikes, I might die never knowing the pleasure a man gives a woman.

And if this isn't fate smiling on me after dragging me through hell, you tell me what is.

Pinned to the wall, I have little control over any part of my body. My arms are trapped between us with my hands on his muscular chest. That leaves one part of me that I can move.

So I do.

Not fast at first but I slowly pick up the pace. The pressure and burn of his pants against my clit is almost too much. But I can’t get it right where I need it in order to come.

“Let me help.” he husks in a deep, hungry growl.

My Russian cups my pussy, and presses the rough pad of his thumb against my clit. I gasp and buck in his tight hold.

I slam my eyes closed. When I rub myself against my protector the spark of electricity makes me moan with need.

It’s wrong.

It’s twisted as fuck.

And I could not be any wetter.

He moves the edge of my shirt up and looks down at my exposed pussy. I dig my nails into the hard muscles of his chest, wishing I could rip his shirt off so I could have his flesh under my touch.

He murmurs something in Russian I don’t understand but I have a feeling his words are of awe and lust.

Rowan drags his finger through my drenched slit. The man takes his wet finger and I watch him lick it clean.

“I’ve wondered how sweet you would taste for a long time, malyshka.”

I shudder in a deep breath. “You have?” I ask shakily.

“Fucking sweetest candy I’ve ever tasted.”

“Let’s see if you agree.”

He drags his finger through my slit again, earning him a gasp and shudder in return.

“So responsive,” he murmurs. “Open, malyshka. Open for me and taste how sweet you are.” I do as he softly commands.